Insane.
Mentally unstable.
"Nuts".
Whatever delicate (or blunt) term you wanted to use, it was there. A Teen Titan had finally cracked. The stress of the job, of the life, and the new and lost friends that constantly changed, had triggered something in her. They all saw it. And now it was as plain as the white fabric she wore so absentmindedly.
The days were wearing on longer, another epic episode in time for the Titans. A villain that wouldn't take a hint, and kids that were getting too old. An assault on their base left bruisings and scrapes, but Beast Boy and Argent took the worst of it. One with a concussion and broken ribs. But he fell into a deep coma. The chances were never constant, and the doctors wouldn't make up their mind on if he would make it or not. One day he'd be waking up soon, the next his chest would be crackling with energy from the defibrillator.
Next they were separated. They knew they were getting close when the security got tighter, but they didn't expect what happened next. Teams of three were hardly enough to launch a final assault when the communicators were confiscated.
Finally, there was death. Herald. Victory was close, they could smell it, and they even got a taste of it while the villains were on their knees, faces scowling. But then he fell.
The only man Robin had ever killed had been out of blind rage. No one blamed him, and some had said if he hadn't, they would have themselves. But revenge didn't help her, 'situation'. The damage had been done, and there was no undoing it. She had cried, and cried, the blood spilling from his chest staining the white on her arms and cloak. Eventually she stopped crying, and stopped talking… and eating, and sleeping. She just stopped.
The entire team made a full recovery, physically. They went back to business, fighting the regular bank thieves and small time schemers. Pizza was a sure thing to look forward to, but they didn't smile as much. They had perfected their smiles, for when press days came around, but it didn't work on each other. Towers and cars were one thing, but when you lose one of your own…
She was never seen outside of her room. Locked inside, she created her own prison. Dust had settled over her books and her statues. Her bed was the only thing that remained a place to live, though it wasn't used for its purpose. An indent in the middle had been created, from the days and nights she spent, sitting cross legged. Of course she went out to eat, but no one would check inside her room. No one but him, but even then he hid behind extra legs and miniscule size.
It had been three months after the incident when the original Titans disbanded. The tower, once a home and sanctuary, was re-filled with more energetic youth. Off to join the big boys all but one almost forgot about her. Robin (Nightwing now) had left the situation in his charge. Make her comfortable. Money wasn't an issue, never had been, so he bought her an apartment. On the cliffs at the south side of town was where the rich and famous were. Top floor, French doors that led to a balcony, view of the entire city and of the bay. He bought her furniture too. Had snatched a magazine off the shelf at a furniture store and picked out matching living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom ensemble. Nothing was pink, or had flowers. He made sure it was darker, and blue. Her favorite colour.
After joining the justice league, the 'team' forgot about her. Visits ended in frustration, so they stopped happening. But he never did. Couldn't. She needed him, in more ways than one. He was her grocery support. Tuesdays he would take off, no matter how much trouble in would get him into. He had his own key, and he always went to the same place for the selection of tea they had. He got paper bags, fresh fruit, grainy bread and the like. He loaded it all into a blue car with black bird designs on the hood, then headed to Delilah crescent, to arrive at noon sharp.
"Raven?" he called out, his voice echoing off the plain white walls. Through the doorway he could see her legs, long and pale, leaning on the deck railing. He hugged her from behind. "Morning." He said smiling at her.
"Afternoon now." She corrected, staring straight ahead.
"Afternoon then." He took her hands and led her to the kitchen, where the groceries, once piled on the counter, were now tucked away in their respected places. He always made her lunch when he came. Nerves made movement a must, and she was always content to watch him stir a pot of pasta, snatch a taste of raw cookie dough, or burn himself when he didn't use an oven mitt. "Cookies?" they saved for special occasions. Marriages between old colleges, another successful raid, he had managed to make her smile once. "I need a reason not to go back so soon." He grinned at her, not looking behind as he already knew mixing bowls and ingredients were crackling with dark energy without her batting an eyelash.
It was odd though, he thought as he measured out vanilla and baking soda. She stopped talking more than five words at a time after… But what was most odd was that the other Titans didn't seem to see the words swirling just behind her eyes, waiting for the right moment to burst, but never quite made it to her mouth. In the hospital he was always the one to know when she needed him there, even if she was concentrating on a bird out the window. Or when she really wasn't in the mood for dessert, it was too cold out for ice cream. Then again, he swatted at the flour swirling around his face that exploded from the whump of flour in the bowl, none of the other Titans really tried.
"I didn't know what you were going to want so.." he held up three different bags of chocolate chips. Mini m&m's, caramel balls, and regular chips. "I'm sorry, but they were out of milk chocolate m&m's." he wrinkled his nose, knowing that to her the cookies would taste more bitter, even when he couldn't taste the difference. "Caramel it is." He decided, after she … well not much.
The next two hours, he devoted to her cookies, but mostly her. The radio was playing jazz, and he couldn't resist spinning her around the dining room table. Her dress swished against her legs after she twirled, fanning the skirt around her in an unusual spurt of motion. She giggled under the cover of music and laughter from him. He heard it of course, but pretended he didn't. It was their secret life, these Tuesdays. Where she wasn't insane and he wasn't a superhero with a past full of angst. His hands were warm against the small of her back pulling her close while they tango-ed and fox-trotted and just moved to the painfully bad reception.
When he finally got the first batch in the oven, after a spilt bag of flour, broken dish, upturned chair, and two smacked hands after being caught trying to sneak raw cookie dough, they delighted in watching through her binoculars. The retired actress that never had a break, but did have a very public sex video (it was just for my boyfriend is swear!) was eyeing the pool boy again. She would have flirted but she was back from a recent battle with age and couldn't move her face (botox). The man that no one knew his name, was naked again. Luckily his fat spilt over and covered himself. Or was that bad? Supermodels were having a farm party on the third floor, with feather boas and pleather skirts. Daddy's little girl was there too, with her biker boyfriend that nobody liked. They would have gone on but Beast Boy turned the binoculars on her and pointed out she had a freckle on her back, why didn't I know that?
He still tried to eat the first cookie out of the oven, even after two burnt tongues and watering eyes.
"Silly," she muttered handing him a glass to drown his tongue in.
She was always more dignified than him or course. Picking apart her cookie, bit by bit, and eating it by the square centimeters. More graceful than his, take a bite that consumes half the cookie, eat the other half then wash it all down with a glass of milk until you are reduced to a mess of cookie crumbs at the corner of your mouth and a white mustache that he never seemed to notice. Definitely.
The cookies are cooked. Stacked and sealed in the jar on the counter that refuses to ever not reveal when you try and sneak a cookie. He cleaned his mess of ingredients all over the floor, counter, and walls. She got the ones on the ceiling. Four hours now, of trying to escape what he has to go back to every Tuesday evening. He would have stayed for dinner, but he thinks she's had enough of him, and his shift at the watchtower is starting in half an hour. His keys are in his pocket, shifting with a clink against his leg, reminding him. He already said his goodbyes, with a simple see you next Tuesday. Walking towards the door, he's stopped. Two thin arms wrap around him from behind.
"Kiss." She says with that soft voice, and those eyes that he knows are wide and pleading him to not leave so fast. He sighs, taking her arms and unraveling them from around his waist. She makes him look at her when he hands her limbs back to her, cracking his resolve just slightly. It crumbles completely when she pushes her face so closely to his, lips apart, within kissing distance of his. So he does, wishing she wasn't so persuasive, but basking in the thought of how many kisses she wanted next Tuesday. He knows he shouldn't, as his fingers travel around to her hips. If anyone else had known his situation they would have told him not to. She was unstable and didn't understand the simple things anymore. Didn't understand what she was asking him to do, doing to him.
And what she was doing to him. The simple act of her hands cradling his face was heavenly to him. Hands smoothed over his chest, curling around his shoulders when he kisses under her jaw. His own hands traveled south, stroking the silk of her dress, and the little bit of leg that always showed from the rip in the side. Her scent sent his head spinning, off into the clouds where he never had to leave her. But then the wind would start to blow, and his clouds would scatter off, leaving him to untangle himself from her, and try and head towards the door without the temptation of running back.
But the truth was, that she was more sane than people thought, and understood more than what the regular person could comprehend. She knew that he would always come back, every Tuesday, postponing the end of the world to spend a few hours with her. He always, always came back. Even when Batman threatened him, he kept him cool and politely told the caped crusader, to shove Wednesdays off, up his ass.
But the truth was, he was dancing around something, and every Tuesday got harder to bear.
And every Tuesday, it was harder to deny he was so in love with her.
So... as you can see, this is possibly the longest oneshot i have ever done. And the only story i have ever written that hasn't been down on paper before i typed it up. I like the idea of Raven going insane. The writers even used it in 'How Long is Forever'. You can't deny it, you love it.
Speaking of long, McAdams is still not done, but my good friend gaara-o-sand was reading the first couple chapters in my English class. And i quote "It's like crack, it's addicting, but not all drugs and deadlyness." Okay so maybe he didn't say that exactly, he's so not cool enough, but you get the point.
Speaking of English class! I forgot my fanfic notebook in my english class, along with my pencil case, on wednesday and when i picked it up today, every single pen i had was gone!! Who would do that?!?! They were nice pens too, did you think i wouldn't miss them you whoore!
s'cuse my rantings.
you-neek